...For the Love of Fine Words.
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Saturday, January 18, 2014

The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood

Rating:
4 Stars

2000
Man Booker Prize

This isn’t a feel good book. Never mind; it has
other things going for it.

For starters there is its technical virtuosity.
Atwood has taken an outmoded literary device – the epistolary novel - and
imbued it with a savage new life. While the novel is certainly open to feminist
interpretations, the author’s approach is iconoclastic in its demolition of
fondly-held notions of family, religion, and marriage. That makes for a
prickly, uncomfortable read; but artistes’ integrity lies is in staying true to
their vision, not in pandering to the fickle caprices of the audience.

The plot is like a matryoshka doll, apparently nesting
several stories within the main frame. The narrative opens in the 1940s, ‘ten
days after the war ended’. Iris Chase hears of the tragic death of her younger
sister, Laura, in a car accident. We learn over the course of the novel that
Laura has achieved posthumous fame with the publication of the scandalous (for
its time) book, ‘TheBlind Assassin’. Iris, several years
later, though physically frail, is indomitable and clear-minded in her old age
as she never was in her youth. Part of the story is her recollection of her
life as she writes it down for an estranged grandchild.

Part of it are also excerpts from ‘The Blind
Assassin’ - a story of a young society woman involved with a man on the wrong
side of the law, though his crime is never made explicit. The couple meet in
various different locations each having their own reasons for being very
careful. The word ‘love’ is not mentioned in their trysts, and they are often
cruel or callous; yet, their need for one another, even if not always tender,
is genuine and palpable.

The third story is the science-fiction tale with
which the young man entertains his lover – a fantasy world of oppressive social
stratification, sexual deviancy, and a perverted religion based on sacrificial
rituals. Even under these unconducive circumstances, there are two unlikely
people who fall in love seeking a redemption from the sordid reality of their
lives.

Each story is engrossing enough on its own. Atwood’s
ingenuity lies in her one-woman enactment of the triple Moirai in spinning the
narrative; keeping the skeins from unraveling; and, swiftly and ruthlessly tying
the threads together for a truly brilliant yarn.

“…All
she has left is the picture. Also the story of it.

The
picture is of happiness, the story not. Happiness is a garden walled with
glass: there’s no way in or out. In Paradise there are no stories, because
there are no journeys. It’s loss and regret and misery and yearning that drive
the story forward, along its twisted road.”